I am looking at my four-year-old, and I notice he is getting skinnier.
Me: “Are you getting taller?”
He looks down at his body and shrugs his shoulders.
Me: “You’re definitely getting skinnier!”
He looks at me, very concerned.
Son: “I hope that doesn’t mean my skin will fall off.”
My seven-year-old and I will sometimes pretend to have an argument. For example, I might ask her to clean her room and she’ll dramatically sigh, “You’re the worst mother ever!”
One recent fake fight ended like this.
Me: “Go wash your face.”
Seven-Year-Old: “Never!”
Me: “Always! How did you get ketchup on your forehead, anyway? Were you trying to feed your hair?”
Seven-Year-Old: “You’re rude!”
Me: “Yeah, well, your mom’s rude!”
Seven-Year-Old: “But you— Wait, what?”
I love reminding my twenty-two-year-old daughter of this story. Several years ago, when my oldest children were six and four, my husband — their step-dad — dressed up as Santa and came to my parents’ house where we were visiting on Christmas Eve. He did the whole bit, dropped off presents, and headed out the door with a “Merry Christmas to all and to all a good night!”
After he left, I had the following conversation with my little girl, who was four.
Daughter: “I know that wasn’t Santa. That was [Step-Dad].”
Me: “What makes you think that?”
Daughter: “Santa isn’t that tall.”
My husband is 6’2”.
Me: “Okay, you’re right. That was [Step-Dad]. Santa asked him to help out tonight because he’s really busy and running behind.”
Daughter: *In shock and awe* “[Step-Dad] knows Santa?!”
I see a dad putting his son, who looks to be about two or three, in a high chair at a restaurant. The kid isn’t having it and gives his dad an exasperated look.
Kid: “Am I a baby? Am. I. A. BABY?”
Confession time: I made my daughter cry at Christmas a few years ago.
She was in the habit of very carefully, slowly opening gift wrap without ripping for later reuse and I’d always tell her to hurry and just rip it. One Christmas, as a joke, I wrapped a gift to her by ripping gift wrap into pieces about the size of quarters, then taping the pieces together around the gift box. I thought it looked cool: pieces of different themed gift wrap with the ripped, rough edges sticking out all around the box, kind of “fuzzy” and no need to avoid tearing wrapping that’s already torn up.
But she thought I was making fun of her; when she saw it, her head dropped and she cried slightly.
I apologized, but I’ve felt guilty for four years now. It’s hard being a parent; sometimes you go for a laugh but things don’t work right and then someone is hurt.
